Play it Again Sam
by Dreadedfemale
Summary: E/O challenge. He's bleeding. AGAIN. Seems like that's all Dean does anymore. Aftermath of a hunt or is it? Hurt!Dean. Worried/Protective!Sam. Prompt:Numb. Happy Birthday to supernoodle! Rated for language. I told him not to but he said it anyway.
1. Just a Flesh Wound

**A/N: **E/O challenge. Prompt:Numb. This one is for Supernoodle and includes one or more of the following as per request: unconsciousness, shock, CPR, trouble breathing, bleeding. Happy Birthday out there! It's late yet again because real life has no sympathy for this girl and her obsessions.

Also, I own nothing save a mortar and pestle that used to belong to my brother's fiancée's ex-friend's grandmother. But if I did……..

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He's bleeding. Again.

_Surprised there's any left inside._

Fascinated he stares as the drops sparkle like rubies in the sun.

"Dean? Dean!"

"So pretty."

"What?"

Hands on him.

"Where Dean?"

"Wha..?"

"Where are you hurt?"

"Everywhere." He coughs.

Rubies in his hand.

Each breath shorter, more painful than the last.

He pulls his hand from under his jacket. Holds it up.

"Mostly here." Points to his chest.

Hands pulling at his jacket.

"Shit! SHIT!"

"'sBad?"

"No. Just…."

"Cold S'mmy. Kinda **numb**."

"Probably shock. You'll be okay."

World's going fuzzy but he can still see the lie in his brother's eyes.


	2. More than a BandAid

**A/N: **E/O challenge. Prompt:Numb. Same story. Different point of view. This one is for Supernoodle and includes one or more of the following as per request: unconsciousness, shock, CPR, trouble breathing, bleeding. Happy Birthday out there! It's late yet again because real life has no sympathy for this girl and her obsessions.

Also, I own nothing save a mortar and pestle that used to belong to my brother's fiancée's ex-friend's grandmother. But if I did……..

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

"You'll be okay." _God, let him be okay._

The hole in his brother's chest is ragged, black around the edges.

Without pressure it seeps steadily.

"**Numb** Sammy."

"I know. You told me. Just hang on."

"Tryin'." Dean's eyes roll back. His head lolls.

"Dean! Stay with me."

"Tr…try."

_Stop the bleeding. Get to the car._

"D'jou geddit?"

Unstraps his belt.

"Yeah, I got it."

Rips his shirt, folds it.

Slips the belt around Dean's chest.

"Sonuvabish!"

Shirt under, pulls tight.

"Come on precious." He grabs his half-conscious brother, pulls him to his feet.

"Goin home?"

"Sure. Or to the hospital."


	3. It's not Over Till the Fat Lady Sings

**A/N: **This one just won't go away so I've yet another little fic to finish. Well, trying to get a few caught up this week. Thanks for reading!

Alas I own nothing save a honey farm in Chatanooga. But if I did…….

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Vertigo as he's lifted. Relief too. _Tired of this place._

"Goin home?"

"Sure. Or to the hospital."

He pushes at the shadows floating at the fringe of his vision.

_Not. Yet._

Legs cast in concrete, still he moves.

Tries not to be a burden.

_Light as a feather. Stiff as a board._

"Hmmm. Ha." _Ow. Sonuva..!_

"You're laughing? This is funny to you?"

Tries to answer.

Laugh stole his breath.

_Don't be mad Sammy. Gonna be fine._

Then he smells it.

The stench is a thousand rotting corpses on a hot summer day.

Inhales sharply. Pain.

"Said'ja goddit."

"I di…."


	4. No More Mister Nice Guy

**A/N: **Still in drabble form just no more prompt words. I tried to use some of the old ones but they didn't gel so…..

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The reek of overripe bodies baking in the sun hits him full force.

"Said'ja Goddit."

"I di….Ooof"

They both go down heavy.

Gun goes flying.

"Shit!"

Quick to his knees, to his feet in a crouch.

The smell is everywhere.

It cackles.

The sound rebounds off the brick walls of the school behind him.

Fire as his cheek is gouged.

His pulse goes wild.

Dean moans. Coughs wetly.

"Shoodit."

"Can't. Guns gone."

"Knife m'boot."

He leans back feels air as it strikes and misses.

It's fast.

Damn fast but he's pissed and time's slipping away.

"Yeah me too."

He lunges.


	5. Rhythm of a Heartbeat

**A/N: **This little fic has me by the throat. Can't seem to stop so. Hope you all are still liking this.

Also….. I do what I please. Even if they aren't mine! XP

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Yeah me too."

Curls on his side.

Watches as Sam explodes upward pulling a knife from god knows where.

His heart beat is erratic.

Adrenaline pushing.

Blood loss pulling.

Harder to breathe.

_Lung's going. Hurry Sam._

What happens next is a blur.

Sam crashes into the thing taking it to the ground.

Twists, turns, kicks.

Blade flashes.

Claws slash.

Slices, stabs.

Grunts and screams and blood. So much fucking blood.

Then Sam's on top, raising that wicked knife high above his head.

Gloriously savage in the morning sun.

Down, down, down and it's over.

He shivers.

Shadows close in.


	6. Not Dead Yet

**A/N:** Ok, so wicked sorry about the delay. Real world etc. etc..

Don't own 'em but I will muahahahahahahaha. J/K ;)

Past the hundred word mark because it's going to be Sam's POV from here on out. It's hard to see inside an unconscious man's head from here.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Down, down, down and it's over.

He shivers despite the sunlight.

Glances over.

Dean's still.

Too still.

A string of bloody saliva connects his cheek to the ground.

Sam's up in a heartbeat.

Right now, everything's a heartbeat and they're running out.

"Dean!"

No response.

Falls to his knees.

Lifts one eyelid.

Pie plate pupil in a sea green iris.

Unresponsive.

He's never moved so fast in his life.

From the schoolyard to the Impala in an eye blink.

Doesn't even remember starting it.

Presses the pedal so hard he's sure it's going through the floor any second.

_Faster._

He blows a red light.

_Please._

Another.

Then he sees it.

White H. Blue background.

Sharp right, fishtails.

The hospital is all bright lights and sympathetic faces.

It makes him sick.

Been here before.

Done this before.

Didn't like it then.

Likes it less now.

The wires and tubes and yelling and blood.

The worried sideways glances.

Like he's made of glass.

The false promises and bullshit lip-service.

He doesn't need someone to tell him it'll be ok.

He knows it will.

It has to be.

There is, simply, _No. Other. Option._

In the space of a breath the noise level rises.

Fills his ears until he swears his head's gonna burst.

Then…..

Silence.

Like a vacuum yawning into eternity.

Broken at last by a sure and steady beep, beep, beep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"_I'm not dead yet, oh no, I'm not dead yet._

_I'm a mad dog fighting with a wall against my back._

_You better get a bigger gun, I'm not dead yet."_

"Not Dead Yet"--Styx


End file.
